


dancing in the beating sun, the world seems yellow

by cowboylakay



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Night Stands, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboylakay/pseuds/cowboylakay
Summary: Abed is a lone outlaw. Then, he meets Troy Barnes.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	dancing in the beating sun, the world seems yellow

Freedom, the fundamentals of which the American Dream had been built upon, was not meant for men like Abed.

The American Dream wanted him serving the white man, doing their bidding as part of a subhuman category, deemed unworthy of the freedom they claim to desire. It was freedom for the white man, where he could go about life as he pleased without the constraints of the world. It was enslavement and captivity for the brown man, a foreigner born in a land that coddles white-hoods that want to kill him.

He knows he isn’t the first to reject these ideals, knows that the American Dream is not as American as it claimed to be. He’d proven that idea as such, taking a knife in his hand and stabbing the master and mistress of the house as they slept, for every ounce of pain and grief and fear they’d instilled into him from childhood. He’d not given them the chance to scream or cry, simply put an end to them as soon as they opened their eyes and saw his cold, blank stare, the last thing they’d ever see.

The knife had felt heavy in his hand, and yet, covered in viscera, he’d felt the most human then.

He’d taken to the pistol like a hunter to fletching; it had been learned, a skill invaluable in the days to come, and one he’d excelled in. Many times had he played with fire, with bullet-rains and gunsmoke, and he found himself the undeniable victor. He’d become a gunslinger, not because he’d been born as one, but because he made himself one. A truly free man, with nothing holding him back.

The gun is heavy in his hand, just like the knife had been, but there is nothing heavier than the sins of the American Dream, and he won’t rest until he witnesses it’s downfall.

Riding into town on his camarillo stallion, Babette, repeater strapped to his back and bandana hanging low on his chin, he feels the stares of adults and children alike, mother’s scolding their children into going home at the sight of a brown  _ vaquero  _ riding in on Death’s stallion. They ignore that he isn’t looking at them, and they ignore that they severely outnumber them. They all know a man like him doesn’t need his eyes to know where to shoot.

He stops outside the saloon, where the clinking of glasses and low sounds of conversation emit from behind the doors. It’s a lively evening, the sun beginning to set and the workers migrating from their mining jobs to a night at the saloon on payday. Abed keeps his revolver holstered as he gets off Babette, five rounds loaded and fifty more in his belt pockets, heavy against his side. His hat shields his eyes from the lantern light as he steps into the saloon, where the activity comes to a halt.

He can feel the gazes of every person in that room, the floor so silent that he could drop a feather and have it explode in his ear. He strolls up to the bar as activity resumes, even as the tension steadily rises. He hears the cocking of a hammer from behind the counter, the bartender looking at him with hostility, and readies himself to quickdraw, when a man dressed in a bright yellow outfit comes to his side.

“Whiskey, for this gentleman and I,” He says, voice smooth as he presses two coins down. The bartender balks at him for a moment, glancing at a board next to him then back at the man, before turning and plucking two whiskey glasses and pouring some for the both of them, wordlessly passing them. “Cheers,” The stranger tells him, clinking his glass against Abed’s.

“Thanks,” Abed says, uncertain of what to make of him. The stranger smiles, a handsome smile that Abed finds himself entranced by, and simply gestures with his glass. He drinks as Abed drinks, half watching him from the side of his eye.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods, stranger?” The stranger asks, a peculiar glint in his eye. Abed knows that look well, the thinly-veiled interest of a man looking for a warm body to spend the night with and never see again. He looks at the man’s packed figure, strong shoulders and soft, dark skin and pretty eyes, chest out and waist defined even under the loose-fitting yellow dress shirt.

Abed flashes a small smile, the first time in days. There hadn’t been much to smile about out in the open road. “We’re in a desert, partner.”

“Semantics,” The stranger waves off. He puts a hand out, for Abed to shake. “Barnes. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Nadir, and a definite pleasure to make yours,” Abed replies, suspecting the surname. That’s fine with him, if he’s honest. The less he knows, the better.

Barnes smiles at him, then throws back his whiskey. “Forgive me for being a little forward, but am I reading all of this right, friend?” He tilts his head slightly, showing more of his throat. Abed’s eyes drift to it before he looks at Barnes again.

“I think you are, Barnes. What say you and I take this elsewhere, see if we’re both reading it right?” He asks, suave and confident like he knows most people like. Barnes seems to be one of those, eyes flicking from his eyes to his mouth then back again.

“Another time, Benny,” Barnes tells the bartender, before pushing off from the counter. Abed follows suit behind him, too far to be anything but friendly to the uninformed eye. No one pays attention to them as they walk out, neither do they care when they walk into the hotel, and the hotel owner simply passes Barnes a key when they ask for a room.

It’s supposed to be strange, how no one seems to care, but the moment the door shuts behind them and Abed’s hands fly to Barnes’ waist and their mouths collide, the worries disappear.

“Had my eye on you since you walked in,” Barnes says between kisses, where Abed notes he has a minty taste even after the whiskey. He cranes his neck back for Abed, who kisses his way down and sucks on his jaw.

“Weren’t very long, then,” Abed murmurs against his throat, deft hands unbuttoning Barnes’s shirt and sliding them off his shoulders, touching every surface of skin he could there. Barnes doesn’t say anything, sighing when Abed’s lips connect with his collarbone and his hands rub against his sides.

Abed directs them to the bed then, touching Barnes all the way even as his back hits the bed, then Abed’s kissing down his chest to his belly, Barnes’s hands flying to his hair. Abed keens when he pulls accidentally, and again when he pulls experimentally, so Abed responds in kind with unbuckling Barnes’ ornate belt buckle and sliding his pants off and showing him what exactly his mouth is capable of.

“Oh, Christ,” Barnes moans, head thrown back into the sheets as Abed goes to town, losing himself in dark curls and the taste of him.

Later, in the dead of night, Abed slips away, almost reluctantly. Barnes had fallen asleep almost as soon as they cleaned up, bidding him a quiet  _ goodnight _ without another word. Abed lays there for longer than he should’ve, listening to Barnes’ quiet snores as his mind remains blissfully silent. He watches Barnes’ chest rise and fall before he realises that he’d been sitting there, watching Barnes, for thirty minutes, then he gets up, pulling his clothes and accessories on and shutting the door quietly.

He’s back on the road in a matter of minutes, riding out of town without a second glance. Barnes stays on his mind for days after.

It’s three and a half weeks later when he strolls into another town, more than a hundred miles west of the last one and fairly empty. It’s small, nondescript, and quiet, which is Abed’s favourite kind of town. He finds himself in the saloon again, with only a few people there as the others go home to their families. Abed notices that the bartender is nowhere to be found and is about to leave the way he came when he sees the familiar shade of yellow.

“We oughta stop meeting like this, don’t you think?” Abed says as a greeting, smiling when Barnes looks at him.

His eyes widen, before he smiles so brightly it matches the vividness of his shirt. “Nadir! Now, ain’t this a nice surprise? I was just getting bored.”

“I can tell why. There’s nothing to do here, makes me wonder why a guy like you’s in a place like this.” Abed takes a seat across from him.

“Well, I’d like to tell you all about it, but I don’t think we’re here for that kind of talk,” Barnes says, eyes moving across Abed’s face. Abed feels seen. “What say you and I just get down to business? You know, the done and dirty?”

Abed finds that he wants to say he’s intrigued, that he wants to know what Barnes is doing here and what he does, but he figures Barnes wouldn’t be propositioning him if it had been anything else. “Sure. Though in a town like this, I’m not sure where we’d go.”

Barnes winks at him, getting up from his seat. “We’ll improvise. Come on, I’ll show you.”

They end up under the night sky, out in an untouched prairie with small yellow flowers the same shade as Barnes’s shirt. Abed shows him a trick with his fingers and the right amount of pressure that has him seeing stars behind his eyes. Barnes calls out his name this time, and it makes Abed feel good in ways he didn’t anticipate.

Abed leaves again, tucked back in and on his horse, bidding Barnes a  _ goodbye. _ Barnes waves at him, still buttoning his shirt, then Abed rides off. Part of him wants to come back.

A month and a half passes by before he ends up in the desert again, running from a marshall hellbent on bringing him in. He passes by the prairie and thinks about Barnes again, not for the first time in a long time.

He doesn’t go to the saloon this time; tries to keep a low profile. He spots a few bounty posters, two of his plastered up next to each other. He pulls his hat lower, doesn’t look at anyone, and ends up at the hotel. The hotel owner doesn’t show any indication that he knows who Abed is, and Abed doesn’t say anything more than what he needs to.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. For some reason, being back in this part of the country has him thinking about Barnes again. He wonders, almost dreamily, if Barnes was thinking about him too, somewhere out there.

The next day, he thinks about setting out again, since his initial goal was just to stay a night then pass through without any fuss. Something in him tells him to check the saloon, quiet in the morning.  _ If he’s there. _

Abed steps into the saloon, and it’s still fairly empty. There are three people maximum, including the bartender, and no sign of Barnes. Even though Abed had been hoping on the off-chance, he still feels disappointed.

He sits at the bar, where the bartender eyes him with suspicion but serves him the water he asks for anyways. Abed drinks, sighs into the glass, and gets up.

“Where you heading to, stranger?”

He turns then, surprised and caught off-guard, to see Barnes, in his same yellow shirt. He’s smiling, but there’s something else in his expression. Abed wonders if he looks the same to Barnes, spurs clinking as he steps closer to him.

“Away, ‘till you,” Abed replies honestly, sincere. Barnes’ smile widens almost the smallest bit.

“Ain’t see you in a while, Nadir. How’s it been going?” Barnes asks, before something seems to snap into place and he adds, “‘Course, we could skip the niceties.”

“No,” Abed replies immediately, and belatedly realises that’s not all he has to say, “I mean... no, I want to talk to you. Normally. Is that fine with you?”

Barnes looks at him with surprise, but he looks happy with the response. Abed finds that he likes looking at his face. “Yeah,” Barnes says softly, “I think I’d like that. More than I thought I would, actually.”

Abed smiles, a real one. It’s the first time he’d smiled in a month and a half. “Good. That’s good. My name’s Abed, by the way.”

“I’m Troy,” Barnes—Troy—says, holding a hand out. Abed shakes it and looks at Troy as he holds his hand for a bit longer than he should’ve. He likes the feeling of it in his hand. Troy gestures to the door, smiling back at Abed. “Shall we?”

For the first time, ever, he feels giddy. “Let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> living up to my name once again. hiiii trobed stans come read my cowboy jabed fic <3
> 
> i’m [cowboylakay](https://cowboylakay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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